Matter of Honour
by E.M.K.81
Summary: Erik takes a different approach to get rid of his rival and win Christine's hand in marriage. One that involves a very high risk. Leroux-based AU.
1. Chapter 1

**Matter of Honour**

 _Summary: Erik takes a different approach to get rid of his rival and win Christine's hand in marriage. One that involves a very high risk. Leroux-based AU._

Comte Phillippe de Chagny sat in his study and read his newspaper as he did every morning. He was angry for the newspaper announced the engagement of Raoul Vicomte de Chagny and Christine Daae, primadonna of the Opera Populaire. He decided to write a letter to his lawyer, he would sue the newspapers for publishing such audacious defamation. Even if there had been any eEngagement, he was sure his brother would at least have the decency to keep it secret.

Once his brother would have had enough of the singer, he could always pay the wreath money and send her away - if she found any way to prove that she had been a virgin when they became engaged, which the Comte highly doubted. A young singer who was notorious for dissappearing every so often with a mysterious singing teacher would surely have much trouble to covince the court that she had been of indisputable reputation. The Comte de Chagny remembered having to face trial in his youth - and it had been his father who had just bought a compromise agreement as was custom if there was no real evidence on both sides and he was a gentleman after all and wouldn't leave her without any means to support herself. As far as he knew that girl had bought a little inn and married her chef. What a pity, she had been a circus rider.

It was almost laughable that Phillippe and his brother Raoul both favored Show girls - the older one preferring girls with perfect bodies, mainly dancers, and the younger one preferring singers. Sometimes Comte de Chagny wondered if he had been giving his brother a bad example for he had an on-going affair with the primaballerina for years quite openly. It was nothing shameful for any aristocrat to have one or more mistresses - but to marry one of them? No! He couldn't allow that.

What good would it be to sue the gutter press, if his brother would really go through with it and marry that singer? He sighed and looked out - it was a foggy, rainy day, rather cold. No one would go out today if it wasn't necessary.

Phillippe rang his servant. The manservant came dutifully. "Where is my brother?" Phillippe asked.

"He went to the opera," the manservant replied and waited to be dismissed to continue with whatever he had been doing. Phillippe waived his hand absently and the servant left with a bow.

This was certainly not good. He had hoped to give Raoul a piece of his mind this morning but the little coward had already left. This wouldn't spare him. Phillippe was bound and determined to bring his lovesick brother back to reason - and if he had to send him far away from Paris to some remote estate.

A knock at the door startled him. "Yes?"

"Excuse me, sir, there is a man who insists to talk to you," the manservant informed him, "He says it is a private matter concerning your brother. Shall I send him away?"

"Who is he?" Phillippe asked. He remembered all too well his own youth where his father had to deal with some men who came to complain that the young Phillippe de Chagny was flirting with their daughters or riding through the streets recklessly causing damage to some street sellers. Now he was in the position to deal with his brother's behavior and secretly smiled at the irony of history repeating itself. His younger brother made him pay for all the hard times he had given his father.

"He refused to tell his name and - forgive my frankness - he is creepy."

"Creepy?" This rang a bell. Phillippe thought about what his brother had told him about the mysterious rival of his, this man called "Erik" who was Christine's secret singing teacher and Raoul's rival. This Erik was, according to what Christine had told Raoul and Raoul had told his brother, skelettaly thin and horribly deformed. He'd look like a corpse. So if the manservant called the visitor 'creepy', could he be that mysterious 'Erik'?

"Looks like he's seriously ill," the manservant answered, "But his eyes - they really give me the creeps. He looks at you unblinking like a hunting wolf at his prey. Shall I turn him down?"

"No. Please show him to my study. I'll talk to him."

* * *

Count Phillippe took his place behind his desk, carefully placing the newspaper before him, open on the page with the headline "Vicomte and Primadonna" - as if it was a fairy tale. Surely such lies was exactly what poor girls with romantic fantasies wanted to read.

The door opened and a man entered. Comte de Chagny took in a sharp breath at the sight. The man who stood in the door was tall, not so tall he would be outstanding in any crowd, but certainly above average height. He was slim, so slim in fact, he looked like his clothes were hanging on a skeleton. The man was dressed in black, wearing a black suit, a black cloak, black scarf and black gloves. The dark clothing had clearly been made for a heavier man.

As the man took off his black fedora hat, he revealed a nearly bald head with only few strands of brown hair, his face was pale, nearly yellow. Phillippe had seen that sickly color in some men who never saw the sun or suffered from some severe illness. The cheeks were sunken in, the flesh so thin, one thought to be able to see the unusually large teeth through the skin of the cheeks, the malformed lips just barely hidden behind a black moustache. The eyes were deep in the sockets and dark circles under the eyes. Now the Comte understood why his servant had been scared - the light greenish-brown eyes staring at Phillippe from their deep sockets, the head of the stranger sligthly bend forward, he really gave the impression of a wolf on the hunt and his eyes stated as clearly as if it had been spoken: _'You are my next prey_.'

Phillippe barely repressed a shudder. He suddenly felt cold, but refused to make a gaffe and insult his dark guest. So he got up and offered a seat before asking if the stranger wanted something to drink.

"No, thank you," the wiry man answered and took off his gloves, revealing bony fingers and hands with protruding veins. The hands looked disgusting enough without the makabre face, but as the man offered his right hand the Comte didn't refuse, so they shook hands and Phillippe was surprised by the strength in those cold, wiry fingers. It was like shaking hands with a bench vise.

"Please have a seat," Phillippe offered, still staring in those unblinking eyes, fighting the urge to look away. It was a childish game of stares but he refused to show any weakness.

"Thank you," the wiry man sat down with a graceful movement and placed his hat on his lap, the gloves in his hat. Phillippe wondered about the voice. He had never heard a more melodious voice, even those few words left no doubt that this was a wonderful voice.

"We haven't been formally introduced," the Comte began, leaning back in his chair, trying to get the upper hand in their staring contest.

"As if anyone in Paris wouldn't know you, Monsieur de Chagny," the other man replied with a sneer.

"I presume you might be Mademoiselle Daae's singing teacher and mysterious admirer?" Phillippe answered, trying to match the other one's haughtiness.

"Indeed."

"My brother told me your name was Erik?"

"My name is of no relevance in this. I came here to discuss the privte matter of your brother and my fiancee."

" **Your** fiancee?" Phillippe was taken aback. He had never thought his brother would propose to a woman who already was promised to somebody else.

"Yes, **my** fiancee Christine Daae," the creepy visitor replied, "And the outrageous behavior of your brother which damages her reputation."

"You want compensation? How much?"

Erik chuckled. "Money I do have aplenty," he answered, "This is a matter of honour."

Phillippe took in a sharp breath and got up. He went to the window, staring into the garden. What game was this strange man playing? What were the stakes? Phillippe turned round and faced Erik again, who sat in his chair absolutely calm and relaxed.

The Comte decided to start with a formal answer. "As you might know, duels are forbidden by law. And if they weren't my brother is the Vicomte de Chagny, he won't soil his sword on you."

The laugh that erupted from Erik's throat caused Phillippe to shudder in spite of himself. It was a low, quite laugh as if that man was just now watching him walk directly into his trap. Erik got up and stepped up in Phillippe's face, looking slightly down. Phillippe recoiled from the horrible face coming so close to his - and now he could clearly see that the other man's nose was just paper mache and the moustache was a false one. Phillippe involuntarily put a hand over his mouth and nose, fighting a wave of nausea that hit him with Erik's bad breath.

"What have you and your dear little brother ever done to rightfully earn whatever title and honour you claim to have?" Erik's voice was threathening and full of contempt, "You were just fortunate enough to be born. What great and honorable deed that is!"

"I won't suffer being insulted in my own home!" Phillippe snapped, but it would have sounded more convincing hadn't his voice been that high with fear. He could not bring hinself to be angry now, he was intimidated and scared, but did not dare shame himself and showing any weakness calling for help.

"As I would in mine," Erik answered softly and retreated a few steps, carefully watching the Comte who gasped of relief when the other's unbearable presence wasn't looming over him, "Which is precisely why I am here."

"If you want to challenge my brother - the answer has to be no for my brother won't lower himself to duel with you!"

"Your brother is the Vicomte de Chagny by luck of his birth. I am equal to an archduke, I earned rank and title in Persia with nothing but the power of my mind - the Shah of Persia raised me to the rank equal to an archduke when I singlehandedly defeated a rebellion - I faced them alone and they sank to their knees before the hooves of my horse. I risked my own life and rightfully earned rank and title. It is **I** who should not lower myself to duel with your brother!" Erik spat, breathing heavily in the effort to contain his rage, "But nevertheless I am willing to bear the shame and challenge him to a duel to defend Mademoiselle Daae's honour." This was not entirely true and both men knew it. Erik wanted to win Christine's hand in marriage and remove his rival, honour meant nothing at all to him, but right now it served him well that the Shah had raised him in rank just to annoy his court.

Phillippe gave it some thought. If this was true, this man had a much higher aristocratic rank than a comte, an archduke was such a high title he would be able to marry a princess of a royal dynasty. If this was true. But could that strange man who hadn't even told him his name be trusted in any way? Raoul had described his rival as a madman, a criminal, a ruthless kidnapper and liar. "Do you..." Phillippe cleared his throat and began the sentence anew: "Do you have any proof for your statement?" The Comte de Chagny was sure that the other man would never be able to bring any evidence for his too-fantastic-to-be-true story.

"Of course," Erik answered, "But you have to understand that I have been betrayed and sentenced to death for crimes I did not commit and the Shah of Persia thinks me dead. It would be very... unpleasant if the Persian embassy knew that I am still alive." Erik stopped to carefully study Phillippe's reaction and secretly admired the Comte's unmoving game face. "Sentenced to death - not stripped of title and honour!" he added, just to make sure the other man wouldn't misunderstand.

Erik secretly admired Phillippe's self-control. He had used much pressure and the man hadn't cracked, hadn't fallen out of his role as gentleman. Of course Erik had not missed how the other one paled and shuddered, how his hair stood on end, but Phillippe had not committed any incivility.

"There is a man who can verify my story without endangering anyone," Erik went on, "He is a prince of Persia, member of the royal dynasty, so you can be sure you won't speak with any man unworthy of your precious attention."


	2. Chapter 2

**Matter of Honour**

Phillippe de Chagny was not at all happy with the new events. He surely wouldn't want his brother to fight a duel, he loved his brother dearly, in fact, Raoul was more like a son to him, but he could not - would not - ignore that challenge. The easiest way to deal with that scarecrow of a man was to find some evidence that his story was a lie and the easiest way to do that was to confront the mysterious man everyone knew as "the Persian".

Nadir Khan was surprised when the Comte de Chagny approached him after the first act of _Roméo et Juliette_.

"Excuse me, are you Monsieur Khan?" the Comte asked.

Nadir nodded, his thoughts racing. Why would anyone know his name? He wasn't socializing with people, he didn't tell anyone his name, to the Parisians he was just "the Persian" and he had no intention to get acquainted with anyone. In that he was as reclusive as Erik.

"Can we talk in private? My box perhaps?" the Comte asked and added in a very low voice: "I have to ask you about a mutual acquaintance who calls himself 'Erik' nowadays."

"Erik? You know Erik?" the Daroga wondered if this was just a bad dream. Since when did Erik introduce himself to anyone personally?

* * *

In the Comte's box Phillippe told the Persian about the strange visitor that morning. Nadir listened, sometimes asking a few questions but before the third act was over he was convinced that the Comte de Chagny was telling the truth.

"You must never trust Erik!" he warned the Comte, unsure of why Erik hat approached that man.

"But the story he told is true? He told me you could prove it," Phillippe asked.

"Yes, I do. It is true that I am a member of the royal family and I do have the papers to prove it - or you could just ask at the Persian embassy, they know me. But do all of us a favor and never mention Erik. He is believed to be dead and if anyone found out he's still alive it would be... unpleasant to say the least. It might even cause war if the Shah believed Erik to be working for the government."

"You can trust me," Phillippe answered, "But I wonder why Erik would expose himself like this?"

Nadir shrugged. "Maybe he'll tell me one day. But yes, his story is true. The Shah did raise him to rank and power, although I'm not entirely sure if the title is comparable to an archduke or grand duke or prince-elector or maybe just a duke. Whatever."

"But it would be at least a duke?"

"Unfortunately yes." The Persian wondered why Erik was now telling anyone, he always took pride in being French and his political ideas matching the Jacobins. He always told anyone if he'd been there at the French Revolution not one nobleman would have escaped the Guillotine. It was an afterwit that Erik himself actually was an aristocrat, and a very high ranking one, but usually he denied that. Nadir shook his head. Whenever he thought he had figured Erik out that fiend did something that turned his world upside down again.

"And is there any way you could prove that story?" Phillippe asked. The whole story was far too fantastic to be true. This was the story of an adventure novel, but such things didn't happen in real life.

"Actually yes. Ask the Persian ambassador who I am. By the way, I'm the ambassadors distant relative, so please don't take it personal if he reacts rather rude when you question my heritage."

* * *

It took Phillippe three days and then he had the official statement from the Persian embassy that this man, Nadir Khan, was a member of the royal family and thus a prince of Persia. So he had a gentleman to verify the story - but he still didn't like what this was about. Of course he wanted his brother and the singer **not** to get married, but he certainly did not want his little brother to fight a duel. The Comte shuddered. His little brother, the lovely blonde boy whom he had more or less raised, whom he had taught horse-riding, sailing and fencing, that good-natured boy who had rather lost in every fencing bout if he was not sure to win without hurting the opponent - Raoul had not won once, he was far too cautious not to hurt anyone! This boy couldn't fight any duel, no matter how old and sick the opponent was.

But now that Raoul had been challenged to a duel by this mysterious Erik and it was a matter of family honour. Only the mere thought of his little brother being in danger was something Phillippe couldn't bear. So he decided he would rather fight the duel in his brother's place if necessary. But if there was any other way out of this he would gladly chose that way - hopefully one without anyone risking his life.

* * *

Phillippe was thinking about how to contact this mysterious man when his servant announced that the man who looked like the walking dead wanted to see him. For once Phillippe was thankful that his younger brother was currently at the opera, no doubt swearing his undying love to that blonde Swedish songbird.

"Good evening Monsieur le Comte de Chagny," Erik greeted this time with much more politeness than his last visit.

"Good evening, Monsieur - I still do not know your name?" Phillippe replied.

"It is better this way," Erik answered, "I guess you found whatever prove you were looking for?"

"Unfortunately yes. Monsieur, is there no other way than challenging my brother to a duel? You both are stating you are just fighting to defend Mademoiselle's honour, but... I guess the real reason is another one," Phillippe said as diplomatically as he could, "And for that other reason, I guess I might be rather on your side than on my brother's."

Erik considered this for a rather long while. "You are asking me to give up any right to call myself a gentleman," Erik stated matter of factly. Phillippe shifted uncomfortable from one foot to the other, this was a rather sensitive topic. Suddenly Erik smiled. "No need to be ashamed, you are not the first one to ask that of me. I understand perfectly. For now I am willing to overlook everything as long as it gets me what I truly desire. I take it you already have an idea, Monsieur de Chagny?"

Phillippe let out a sigh of relief. "Actually yes. You see, I can't stand to see my brother risking his life in a duel and I can't allow him to marry a singer. But right now there is no way of reasoning with him."

"He's so very young and fell head over heals in love with her - of course there is no way he could see reason," Erik agreed, forgetting for a moment that he himself was in no way better, in truth he was even worse. But right now he was curious if the elder brother of his rival would become an ally in this quest.

"I did not tell my brother of your challenge until now," Phillippe admitted, "I needed to know if your story was true before. And now - would you agree to not fighting the duel?"

"To be frank, Monsieur, your brother means nothing to me. I wish him all the best and a long life - as long as he does not marry Christine Daae!" Erik answered.

Phillippe smiled. "Then we agree on that," he said, "I intend to tell my brother of your challenge. If he reacts as I think he would he is going to accept it."

"Go on."

"If I know anything about women the Daae girl is going to beg him not to accept as soon as she learns about the duel," Phillippe went on, leaning back in his chair and watching carefully if Erik showed any reaction. He didn't. Erik sat there as if he was made of wood, only the slight movement of his breathing gave away that he was indeed alive.

"She will either ask him to run away with her or she will beg him to cancel the duel," Phillippe stated.

"Or she might beg me to spare him," Erik replied softly, "By the way - how many duels did your brother win killing the opponent?"

"Of course none," Phillippe answered, shocked at the question.

"So it is none to more than one hundred. I stopped counting after a hundred," Erik informed him without showing any emotions, "I guess Christine ought to be begging me to spare him, don't you think?"

"Save guess," Phillippe sighed, "But then - what if my foolish brother agrees to run away with her for good?"

"I am not sure how much he values honour. If he comes after what I learned about the de Chagny family he won't run," Erik said, "I trust you to present my challenge to him in a way he can't refuse."

"And then?" Phillippe asked, "I can't allow my brother to be in any danger."

Erik gave an indignant snort. "Of course not. You want him alive and marrying a virtuous girl from a noble family. That is something I totally agree with. I guess Mademoiselle Daae will first try to persuade him to run away with her for good. That is where you have to play your part - tell him that you have some vital information. Tell him that there is one weapon I do not have any defense that would give me unfair advantage - a pistol. It is going to be a pistol duel and he will think himself having the advantage."

Phillippe let this sink in. It was true - his brother valued honour very much and was reckless when it came to this blonde girl, always had been. Phillippe remembered all too well that he nearly died of shock when he learned that his little brother had run into the sea to fetch a girl's scarf. To risk his very life for something like a worthless scarf! It wouldn't have cost him a weeks allowance to buy her a hundred scarfs! How would someone with such naive and romantic ideas resist the thought of being the knight in shining armor to rescue the damsel in distress and slay the dragon that threatened her?

"I need some guarantee that you won't harm my brother!" Phillippe demanded, remembering what Raoul had told him about this mysterious rival - a man who was certainly capable of murder and any other sort of crime.

"You have my word," Erik said, then added as afterthought: "If you do not trust me, know this: If somethings happens to your brother I lose my bargaining chip. It is in my best interest that your brother is alive and well."

As Phillippe showed his uncanny visitor to the door he asked: "Aren't you afraid that my brother might be at home?"

Erik chuckled deep in his throat. "No. I forbid Christine to meet him outside the opera house - but in the opera house they are allowed to play 'engagement' like children would do as much as they like. Good girl that she is, she obeys me. They would never expect me to roam the city in daylight." He gestured to his macabre face as if that was all explanation one might eventually need. Phillippe had to suppress the urge to retch in disgust as Erik smiled, revealing crooked, bad teeth that seemed to be too large for his jaw. Even with the false nose and the mustache Erik looked horrible.


	3. Chapter 3

**Matter of Honour**

That day Phillippe waited nervously for his brother to come home after the performance of whatever opera was to be given that evening. There was no need to hide his nervousness for any challenge to a duel would naturally upset him.

Raoul hadn't even crossed the doorstep when his elder brother approached him. "Raoul, finally! I was so worried about you - today... you won't believe it! Today a man came here and challenged you to a duel!"

"Who?"

"I suspect he's that mysterious rival of yours," Phillippe answered a bit breathless.

"O God," Raoul sighed and sank down into a chair in the large vestibule, "What did you say?"

"That I will talk to you," Phillippe answered and felt guilty for he would have to lie to his brother now, "And I think this is a really bad idea! Duels are forbidden - the winner is going to face trial for murder or at least murder attempt and then - he seemed to be so very sure of himself, I think you stand no chance against him. Raoul, you have to decline!" Phillippe felt odd telling the exact opposite of what he wanted to, but he knew that if he would not speak against the duel Raoul would suspect his foul play.

"No!" Raoul replied, "This is the very chance to lure him out of his hiding and be done with it, once and for all! Don't you see that this is my chance to get rid of him?"

"Raoul, brother, I already did some... research. There is a man in Paris who knows Erik and he told me that Erik is a ruthless killer. What chance do you have against an experienced murderer?" Phillippe warned him, "You are always reluctant to even hurt your opponent - you'd rather lose than hurt someone. Do you really think you could win? I'm afraid you would be an easy prey!"

"You know something about Erik? Then you can find out which weapon he is not used to. No man can be a master in all weapons, this would be impossible. Could you do this for me? O and... **not one word** to Christine! I want you to promise that you do not tell her, I do not want her to be worried!"

The Comte was reluctant to give his word because it was essential to his plan to get Christine to beg Erik to spare Raoul, so of course she had to know. But he finally gave his promise not to inform Christine about the duel, while Raoul mistook his brothers uneasiness as that of an elder brother worrying about his safety. A duel was nothing to be taken lightly.

* * *

It was easy for Erik to meet the Comte de Chagny the next day - he just missed the performance, but that was nothing he worried about for he knew he would see many performances in the future if his plan worked. If it failed and Raoul and Christine fled nevertheless, he would lose everything. The worst case scenario was that the scheme was discovered - which could only happen if the Comte made a mistake for Erik was far too experienced to be found out by two naive young people who had lived rather well-protected lives - and this would truly be defeat. Christine would hate him for that and Raoul would hate his brother - Erik was not sure what he would do then. He didn't even want to think about this possibility or he would not be able to go through with his plan. But the Comte had won Erik's respect in one thing: he had not treated him with incivility or shown his disgust in an offending way. Even under pressure that man had been able to act according to some weird social behavior code Erik didn't understand and didn't care to learn. It was a high risk, it was all or nothing now, but Erik had played that game before - and often enough suffered the consequences.

The Comte was exceptionally nervous, smoking a cigar - not his first one that day - and drinking brandy. The smoke made Erik cough, he couldn't stop that, he even had to ask to open the window. Erik hated to show any weakness at all but his lungs couldn't tolerate the smoke, he felt like he was suffocating.

"Excuse me," the Comte looked at his expensive cigar, "I didn't know you couldn't tolerate smoke."

Erik held his hand before his face because the smoke forced tears from his eyes which soaked the false nose and the coughing had loosened the putty that held the false nose and moustache in place. "May I use the restroom for a moment, please?" he asked, unable to stop the coughing fit. Soon he would be spitting mucus and water running from his nose, this wouldn't do. Phillippe de Chagny couldn't deny Erik this request.

Erik locked himself in the lavishly decorated restroom. Of course the house had modern water closets and a faucet with running water in the restroom. Erik appreciated luxury himself, in his flat there was running water too and he had a water closet too - but not in a large room like that. This restroom was as large as a bedroom in a normal flat and the floor and the sink were polished marble, the faucet golden. Erik carefully removed the false nose and the false moustache, his hat and wig and placed it on the small ebony table, wondering who had the absurd idea of putting ebony tables in a restroom. The rather cold but clean air made breathing easier, he bent over the sink and splashed cold water in his face, rinsing out his mouth. And then came the disgusting part of this otherwise rather normal activity: he straightened his spine and reached for the towels to dry his face as he couldn't avoid seeing himself in the gold-framed mirror.

He sucked in a sharp breath in horror - his face was worse than he remembered. He had lost weight, his skin was more or less some yellowish grey, red scars marked the cuts he had done to himself when he had pressed Christine's fingers to his face, demanding that she took off the 'other mask'. He had never cleaned those wounds or kept them bandaged and so they had gotten infected, he had done nothing about it other than scratching it open from time to time. They looked like the marks the claws of a panicked animal left. Suddenly the horror of what Christine had seen that moment sank in, making his stomach turn. Luckily he already was at the toilet for he barely managed to turn round and bend over the toilet bowl as he was violently sick.

* * *

Phillippe wondered what kept his visitor that long and was about to ask if he needed something when Erik returned. He had put away the false nose and covered his face with a black silk mask, the black piece of cloth revealing the unusual flatness of his face and betraying that he really had no nose. Erik never left the house without a silk mask in his pocket for he never knew if he would need it - the paper mache nose was too easily damaged. The Comte shuddered, but kept a straight face. The emaciated man's stance gave away that he was unwell.

"I'm sorry," Erik said, keeping his voice steady, "Maybe we can talk on the balcony?" He was in no condition to spend a long time in the study inhaling cold cigar smoke.

The Comte noticed his visitors weakness and agreed. Standing at the balcony that allowed them a view of the perfect garden with all its flowers and some really impressive trees, he briefed Erik about Raoul's reaction.

"Perfect," Erik answered, "Did you tell him that a duel with pistols would be fair?"

"Not yet," Phillippe answered, "I can't know too much about you without giving away that we talked."

"Of course," Erik snapped, but he was angry at himself that he hadn't thought about this detail and not at Phillippe, "So you gave your word not to tell Christine - I did not make any such promise."

"How am I to find out something about you? My brother wants to know about which weapons you are not used to - but if I just say something he might ask how I found out."

Erik chuckled. "I can always count on an old friend to betray me. Just tell the Persian about the challenge to a duel and he will become very communicative. He will explain that I have no defense against pistols and that I am not trained using them."

"But this is not true?"

"Of course not! I just dislike all firearms because they are so noisy, this does not mean I can't use them. But I do not intend to fight the duel - your brother and you will be waiting at the appointed place, along with my dear friend who will first betray my inexperience with firearms and then agree to be my second, while Mademoiselle Daae and I will stand at the altar speaking our vows," Erik could almost see the picture in his mind and chuckled quietly.

"And when you do not come - what am I to do?"

"Nothing. Just wait and calm your brother as if you were preparing him for the duel," Erik answered, "And then a messenger will arrive with a letter from me, I will give your brother my regret that I couldn't be at his service for I wouldn't miss my own wedding to fight a duel. Of course he will be heartbroken, of course you will comfort him and after some weeks introduce him to women of decent families while I take my wife on tour through Europe."

"You planned this long beforehand, didn't you?" Phillippe asked.

Erik shrugged. "What's it to you?" His concern now was how he could get back to the opera without being seen. He had to wear the mask - the paper mache nose was ruined - and a man in a mask surely would be noticed when everyone would leave the opera house. He decided to hire a cab and have the driver taking him round through the city for hours so he would come home as late as possible, avoiding meeting anyone.

"When will you tell her?" Phillippe asked.

"O I think we shouldn't give her time to ask your brother to run away with her, should we?" Erik answered and the malicious gleam in his eyes send cold shivers down Phillippe's spine, "I will invite her to visit me the night before the duel. Then I will wake her in the morning and give her the choice - marry me or I will kill Raoul in the duel. She can't ask him to run away for good then, can she?"

"And if she says no?" Phillippe asked, wondering what Erik would do.

"I come to the duel, taking her with me, and the pistols will be loaded with false bullets, an old trick, they pulverize as soon as they leave the shaft. But when your brother shoots first and I stand unharmed, Christine will crack, she will never wait for me to shoot him. To be true, I do not think we will have to use that backup plan," Erik told matter of factly.

Both men stood there, feeling ill. Phillippe hated to betray his brother, he absolutely hated it and felt horribly guilty, he wondered if he had the strength to go through with that scheme. Erik felt even more guilty for he had planned this scheme as he would have planned to get a colluder to confess his scheme and reveal his fellow conspirators. She would crack easily, he had seen experienced, tough and hardened men cracking under his carefully planned schemes. It was a cruel psychological torture technique and he was using it on her - the woman he loved. He hated himself for that, but right now he saw no other way to survive. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

Both men didn't look at each other as they parted, both wondering about themselves. Phillippe could at least argue that he was doing this for his brother's benefit, he had to prevent the lovesick boy from throwing his life away. Erik had no such comfort. He knew perfectly well that he was acting solely on his selfish wishes, but then, when had he ever done anything else?


	4. Chapter 4

**Matter of Honour**

Phillipe decided to tell his brother nothing, just let him find whatever information he would be able to uncover. So he only told Raoul where he would be able to contact "the Persian".

Nadir Khan was racking his brain for he did not find any reason why Erik would suddenly need him to confirm that he was a man of title and rank - which had always been completely unimportant to Erik, on the contrary, he usually mocked the meaningless titles. Why would he suddenly try to find his way in the salons of the rich? Erik had always known that he would never be accepted by them, usually the lower the social classes, the more likely he would find some kind of acceptance and that only because he bought it with his money. Why would he suddenly approach rich noblemen - and the Comte de Chagny, of all people? He already knew that the Vicomte was engaged to Christine Daae and thus Erik's rival, but why would Erik approach the Comte in a very formal manner? Did he hope the Comte would be able to persuade his brother not to marry the singer? This would be a highly unlikely approach for Erik, but could it be that Erik was desperate enough to do something reasonable?

He was even more surprised when his servant announced that the Vicomte de Chagny wanted to see him now. Of course he invited him in his livingroom and told his servant to bring them tea.

The Vicomte looked like a nervous teenager. Of course he was no teenager, but to the elder Persian he looked like a boy, a bit pale, nervously fidgeting around on his chair. And this was the rival Erik hated so much? In the Persian's eyes he was more like a child than a man, someone he'd rather protect.

But he could understand Erik's hatred for his rival - Erik loved this singer with an all-consuming obsessive love, and being Erik he had to possess what he loved. If Erik loved something he wanted to have it for himself alone and no one except very few people would ever be allowed to see it. As long as he had only collected things, it was no problem, except that he had resorted to burglary and theft if he couldn't buy what he wanted, but with a woman that was something else altogether.

"I was told that you know Erik?" Raoul began after politely introducing himself.

Nadir nodded, wondering where this would lead to.

"Do you know if he's a good duel fighter?"

The Daroga nearly fainted when he heard that question. Now he knew what Erik was up to - he pretended to want to settle this like gentlemen would, in an honorable duel, only that the Daroga knew already that this boy wouldn't never stand a chance, even considering that Erik had not been fighting duels for years - at least Nadir hoped he hadn't, he didn't know for sure. Erik would be able to kill that boy even when he had both legs and one hand in chains.

"Why do you ask?" Nadir asked, but he already knew the answer. So this was Erik's plan - he had not tried to do it the reasonable way and talk to Raoul's elder brother, asking him to keep the lovesick boy in line, he wanted to kill the boy!

"He challenged me," answered Raoul, not wanting to tell a stranger too many details. He could not know what that man already knew.

Nadir smiled a very friendly smile as he replied softly: "You might as well tell me. I know that Erik is in love with Mademoiselle Daae who is your fiancee."

Raoul nodded, speechless.

"Have you already accepted the challenge?"

"Not yet. Since he challenged me I am the one to decide on the weapons and I haven't decided yet."

"Decline and board the next ship out of France," the Persian advised, his voice dark an threatening. He had seen too many men die at Erik's merciless and skilled hands, men who were experienced elite soldiers or well-known assassins. What chance would a boy have against the Azrael, the Sultana's Angel of Death?

Raoul's head shot up and his eyes became hard. "No! I'm no coward! Either I can kill or incapacitate him or I will die trying." Brave words, but Nadir knew that there was not the slightest chance for the boy to win, not even if Erik was stinking drunk.

The Persian shook his head. "My dear boy..."

"It's Vicomte de Chagny for you, sir," Raoul snapped, annoyed that he was treated like a child when he was a grown up man and marine officer.

Nadir knew that all bravery wouldn't help the boy against Erik. "I'm sorry, sir," he said gently, "To an old man like me almost everyone looks like a young boy." He wasn't that old, he only felt very old after all he'd been through and all he had seen - it was too much for seven lifetimes! He cleared his throat and told Raoul: "I have seen Erik fight. He is a master with every weapon and he does not value any rules of duels. To him nothing but victory counts - and he does not consider drawing first blood or incapacitating the opponent as victory. To Erik, victory is only one thing: a dead opponent. Erik earned his livelihood for years as master executioner, giving the man the chance to win his life in a duel - but of course no one ever bested Erik."

"So you are telling me that he has an unfair trick?"

"I wish it was only that, for then I could find out what that trick was an counter it. No. Erik is a skilled and merciless fighter. Forgive me, sir, but I doubt that you ever killed a man before in a duel," Nadir tried to put it diplomatically, "and even skilled assassins fell under Erik's lasso."

"I wouldn't pick a lasso," Raoul replied somewhat dumbfounded. Why on earth would he pick a lasso as weapon of choice?

"This does not matter," the Persian answered with a heavy sigh, "Erik is a master of all weapons I know."

"It is impossible to master **all** weapons!" the Vicomte exclaimed, "I've learned fencing with different weapons and pistol-shooting, but surely one can't master all weapons in the world!"

Nadir gave this some thought. "You are right. I have never seen Erik using a firearm, though he does have some, I'm not sure if he's practicing with them or not."

"That's it! He can't cheat with a pistol - not when our seconds watch every movement and take him down if he tries something odd according to the rules of honorable duels. I do have a fair chance against him in a pistol duel!" Raoul exclaimed excitedly.

"I doubt you have any chance - even if Erik wasn't able to use a pistol," Nadir tried to reason, "Erik is a master illusionist and he loves so much to cheat, it can never be a fair duel!"

Raoul would hear none of it. In his mind he already formed a plan, he would use his own pistols and load them himself, he would have his brother as his second, pointing a loaded gun at Erik all the time until the duel was over. Of course Erik would have a fair chance with a fine pistol, but it would be a fair and honorable duel. Even if his opponent did not value honor or fairness he, the Vicomte de Chagny, wouldn't lower himself to cheating.

As much as the Persian tried to persuade Raoul not to accept the challenge, the young man's mind was set and he hurried home to discuss with his brother what to do next.

* * *

Raoul hurried home. He found his brother nervously pacing the grand salon as if he was very worried.

"Raoul!" Phillippe exclaimed, his voice shaking with distress, "What did you learn?"

"That a pistol duel would be fair for Erik can't cheat then," Raoul answered, astonishing himself with his calmness.

"Fair - but that does not mean you have an advantage, and even if you had, there is no guarantee that you win..."

"There is no guarantee that he will win either," Raoul replied, "I'm much younger, according to what Christine told me, and he has lived in the Opera for years - he will be blinded by the sunlight for he's no longer used to it."

"Raoul, do you really expect me to watch you risking your life for that singer? You are my brother, I love you, can't you just not accept the challenge?" Phillippe's voice was shaking so badly he was not sure he could talk much longer. Raoul mistook this as his brother being worried, but Phillippe wished he could tell his brother the truth and wouldn't have to lie. He felt cheap lying to his brother and leading the younger man into a trap. Betraying his own brother, even if it was for his best, was terrible.

"Miss the only chance to eliminate that threat from our lives?" Raoul stared at his brother angrily, "Certainly not! How could Christine and I ever be happy together if we always have to worry if Erik will find us and take revenge?"

"Call the police..."

"And make a fool of myself? Do you really think if anyone ever believed that there was a Phantom of the Opera the police wouldn't have tried to arrest him? They'd just declare me and Christine mad," the Vicomte retorted, "No, we're on our own."

The Comte wondered what Raoul wanted to say with "we" - him and his brother or him and that damned singer? "Raoul, can't you just be reasonable and break the engagement with the singer? She's an opera singer, for heaven's sake, brother, she's none of us! Think of the reputation of your family, if you do not value your own! She's good material to become a mistress, but never a wife!"

Raoul grabbed his brother's shirt and shook him violently as he yelled at him: "She's no 'material'! She's my future wife and future mother to my children and if you don't accept that I'd rather renounce my own name than not marry her!"

"Raoul, please, I..."

"Not one word, brother, or I will never call you my brother again!"

Phillippe fell silent. Would Raoul ever forgive him what he was doing now? Would he be able to live with the guilt? He knew perfectly well that he was betraying his brother now, but what was the alternative? Let the young fool risk his life for some stage hog? For a woman with questionable reputation who was known to spend weeks unchaperoned in the flat of Raoul's rival? If she couldn't be faithful before marriage - what would she do once they were married? Phillippe didn't know that Christine was a virtuous girl, he just drew his conclusions from what he saw. And a young woman who spends weeks unchaperoned in the house of a man who is mad with love for her - what else could he think than that she had already betrayed his poor naive brother? Maybe not of her own free will, but she had. Maybe he was just trying to justify his own actions but that moment Phillippe was convinced he was doing what would be best for his brother.

Raoul stepped back, surprised that his brother would back down. "So you do help me now?" he asked.

Phillippe nodded. "I know I shouldn't, but yes, if you want to accept the challenge of your rival, then yes, I'd help you - if I can." It was the truth, more or less, but it felt like a lie.


	5. Chapter 5

**Matter of Honour**

The Daroga, now thinking he had finally figured out what Erik was up to, went straight to the Opera, deciding to interrogate Erik yet again - if he would be able to find the man, that is. But if he would run around in the cellars for long enough Erik was guaranteed to show up and tell him to go away.

He was right, it took him not even two and a half hour at the shore of the artificial lake and he heard Erik's voice at his side, even if he couldn't see Erik anywhere near. Erik would hide just outside the light of his lantern and use ventriloquism to make him believe he was much closer. "Daroga, didn't I tell you **not** to come here?!"

"Erik, I need to talk to you!"

"But I do not need to talk to you. What are we going to do about that?"

"Erik, please listen to me - I had a conversation with the Vicomte de Chagny. He want's to accept your challenge," the Daroga said, "What are you up to? Erik, you promised, no more crimes! No more murder!"

Erik chuckled like a child playing with a new toy. "A duel is no murder, my dear Daroga, and you know that."

"It is, if you are against a boy like the Vicomte. And do not even try to tell me that you wouldn't cheat if you do not already have an unfair advantage!"

Erik's voice moved around the Daroga as if he was walking up and down directly behind him as he answered: "What do you want? Another promise? Well, here it is: I swear to you that I have no intention to kill the boy, in fact, I won't even harm one hair on his pretty head." Erik was sincere, if Phillippe de Chagny would keep his part of the bargain, Raoul would not be harmed, except his pride maybe and maybe the boy would be heartbroken, well, let him be. At that age the boy would survive the pain and emerge hardened and better prepared for life like Erik had when he was young. Erik decided that it was high time that he got his share of happiness.

Of course the Daroga, knowing Erik too well, did not believe one word. "And you're going to let the boy shoot you?" he asked sarcastically.

"O, so it is to be a pistol duel?" Erik asked, glad that his plan worked so well, "Thank you for telling me. I wonder who told the little fop which weapon I prefer **not** to use?" He kept silent and counted to thirty, just for the scenic effect of being ominously silent. "Who knows enough about me? Well, my dear old friend, who?" In a mockingly shocked tone he went on: "Ah, I guess I know. I can always count on my dearest friend and most renowned paragon of virtue to betray me, can't I?"

Nadir sank to his knees as a wave of cold nausea washed through his entire body. "O god, Erik, what have you done?"

"Nothing," Erik said as innocently as possible. It was the truth, he had done nothing until then, he would do something in the future but that something was no crime at all, at least from Erik's twisted code of conduct. "I'm going to save everyone's worthless neck."

"Erik - what exactly are you going to do? And no more games, or I tell the Vicomte de Chagny that you are betraying him and this is no fair duel!"

"You didn't already warn him?" Erik's voice was smooth, teasing, certainly not threatening, "I'd rather you tell him nothing and attend to the duel as my second. You have my consent that you point your pistol on me and not at Raoul, so both seconds will point at me with unlocked pistols, ready to shoot me down should I try anything. I face not one opponent but three - surely this is not unfair?"

"I know your tricks too well. This is one of your magic survival tricks, isn't it? And we are your unwilling audience - only that you will kill the Vicomte!" the Daroga accused Erik.

Erik answered with a smile in his voice: "Absolutely not. I just want to teach the boy to stay away from my future wife, that's all. No need to kill him, unless he does not accept defeat like I think he will. He never faced death before, he will give up as soon as he realizes this is no game but bloody serious." Erik fought hard not to laugh. After all they had been through, the Daroga still thought there was something good in him and wanted desperately to trust Erik, no matter how often he was disappointed. Sometimes the Daroga reminded Erik of a nagging wife, always berating her husband for cheating on her and always believing his lies that he would become a better man and this was truly the last time he did - only to do it again as soon as he had the opportunity. Erik felt slightly guilty and decided to apologize to his Persian friend after his marriage to Christine.

"Why do I have the nasty feeling that I'm going to regret this?" Nadir asked and shook his head.

Erik chuckled warmly. "Because you are a good man, Daroga, and you know that." In that he was sincere - he really liked the Daroga, maybe even more than he would admit to himself, and he knew he could always rely on him. The Daroga was the one man who could give him a ten-hour-lecture about doing good and not bad only to help him cover the evidence of the crime afterwards. Erik didn't really understand why his friend always thought that he, Erik, was a good man - Erik himself certainly did not see himself as having any good or lovable traits - but he knew he could rely on his friend to assist him if he needed help.


	6. Chapter 6

**Matter of Honour**

It was not easy for Erik to approach the Comte the next time for Raoul was at home, so he could not just go to the Comte. Instead he went to the post office and had special delivery letter send to the Comte de Chagny, telling him to come to the Opera that evening and leave in the first act and hand a letter over to Madame Giry, the box-keeper, to let him know which weapons Raoul chose and when and where the duel would take place. Erik suggested a certain place outside of Paris close to the Seine. It was far enough outside the city that it was highly unlikely that people would be there by chance, not even travelling people or beggars, maybe a forester, but even that was unlikely for Erik suggested the duel to take place early in the morning. Erik would have preferred to talk to the Comte, but with Raoul being at home this was impossible and he did not dare write the letter as if the Vicomte would respect his brother's privacy of correspondence.

Erik didn't know if the brothers trusted each other or not. The closest person he had to a 'brother' was the Daroga - and they surely did not trust each other but would spy on each other every time they had an opportunity to do so. Not that anything Erik found was worth the trouble, but he did it just from pure spite. If the Daroga took the liberty to spy on him, well, he would spy on the Daroga too, just to annoy him. Maybe this was what brothers did? One could never know and in this case there was too much to lose to take any risk at all.

The Comte read the letter and decided to show it to his brother.

"Why can't that coward come to challenge me face to face?" Raoul grunted annoyed, "He does not even dare to write a letter to me, it is addressed to you!"

"How should I know?" Phillippe shrugged. He knew perfectly well and it was hard not to tell his brother. He hated what he was doing and silently repeated to himself that it was for his brother's own benefit.

"It is in two days time - and we need at least three hours to get there, even with good horses," Raoul said, he knew that place and wondered why his rival knew it too - it surely was a good hiding place and there were rumors that there had been duels so it was some sort of test of courage for boys to go there at night. Raoul remembered that he had passed the test in his childhood and was terribly disappointed that there had been no ghosts, only mosquitos and leech and lots of mud and undergrowth. As a teenager he would have loved to see a ghost or a creature from the swamp or a monster of a gothic horror novel - now that he was sure to meet one he was far less excited.

* * *

Raoul decided to spend one whole day with Christine, he knew the duel would be a risk, even if the chances were fair, he might die. So if that would happen, he wanted to have one day with Christine, outside of the Opera house, just for the two of them. To his great surprise she accepted, telling that Erik had explicitly allowed her 24 hours with the Vicomte.

This caused the Vicomte to be suspicious. Why would Erik do something like that? The only reason could be that he wanted him out of the way to do something, manipulate something - the place? The pistols? But they were in the house of the de Chagny family, how could Erik possibly manipulate them there? He decided to warn his brother that Erik might try to break into the house and asked him to take the pistols with him and keep an eye on them until they were needed for the duel. Surely with his brother keeping an eye, Erik would not be able to do anything without being noticed? And if he did something, they could always get another pair of pistols for the duel.

Little did the poor Vicomte know that this was exactly what Erik had hoped for. Erik had already prepared the trick bullets and took them to Phillippe, leaving it to him to load the pistols with the trick bullets. "I trust you won't risk your brother's life," he told him, when the Comte asked if Erik was sure that the Comte wouldn't load real bullets, "And I am sure we do not need the fallback plan. Just make sure no really loaded weapons are within your brother's reach - he might try suicide at first."

"My brother? Never!" Phillippe trusted Raoul to be strong enough not to do something like that even when he was upset.

Erik shrugged. "He's **your** brother."

"Are you sure Mademoiselle Daae will agree to spend the night with you?" Phillippe asked. He was worried that the singer would not accept an invitation from that man. Phillippe - and he considered himself a rather brave man, but certainly not reckless - would never ever follow that scary man anywhere without having some other people around. He would never want to be alone with that man in his home. How could a young girl endure that man's presence - and follow him willingly to his flat alone, where she was totally at his mercy and he could do everything to her?

The Comte came to the conclusion that this Erik must have at least some sense of honor and had not violated the girl. The Comte forbid himself to think any further, but a woman who would allow that man to touch her could never be worth his brother's attention. Why didn't Raoul see that the little harlot was taking him for a fool? The Comte certainly had no high opinion of her by now. First she flirted with her teacher to get free voice lessons, then, when his job was done and she fit being a primadonna, she turned to the handsome and rich Vicomte de Chagny, obviously planning to marry up. In the Comte's eyes she was just another one of the floozies in the opera who had one lover after the other, exploiting their patrons for their own profit. How could he know otherwise? He knew what he had been told by Raoul and by his mistress Sorelli who painted a completely different picture of Christine.

According to Raoul, Christine was a paragon of virtue and the victim of the unscrupulous blackguard named Erik. But according to Sorelli, who knew all rumors in the corps de ballet, Christine was only picky in selecting her lovers and there was no indication that she had been abducted or forced to 'disappear' with her mysterious lover every so often, but everyone knew that she did 'disappear', even after she had been seen together with Raoul quite often. She seemed to have two lovers, one whom she showed off shamelessly, the Vicomte, and one she kept hidden. Of course everyone was staring at her stomach by now, gossiping she might already be pregnant with the child of the Vicomte for they spend so much time together. The Comte trusted his brother when he had sworn that he had never done anything indecent with her and there was no need to worry about a bastard.

Erik stared at the Comte indignantly. "How dare you?" he hissed and reached out as if he was going to grab the Comte's throat, but he did not, "She's my fiancee, of course she will gladly accept a polite invitation!"

"It would be none of my business, if I were not your partner in this scheme," Phillippe answered, "If my brother was right and you were just a vile kidnapper I could never forgive myself for assisting in such a vile act against a woman." He surely had doubts that any women - even a whore - would ever follow any invitation to this man's flat.

Erik gnashed his teeth and clenched his fists, but he did not lose his temper. "Isn't it a bit late for a queasy conscience?" he hissed, "But to appease your hypocritical sense of honor - I swear to you that I will never be anything but a gentleman to her."

"What did you just call me?" Phillippe's voice was cold as ice. He would not shout or hiss, but his tone made clear that Erik had just crossed a line he better respected.

Erik looked at the Comte who was really furious now and decided to back down. He needed Phillippe's help for now, he couldn't afford to start a quarrel with him right now. Erik decided to swallow his pride and humbly beg for pardon. "You've my apologies," he said and bowed his head, indicating he was ready to accept defeat in this, "We can't fight now. We have much more important matters on our hands now."


	7. Chapter 7

**Matter of Honour**

Christine wondered why Raoul told her he wouldn't be able to see her the next day. They had had a wonderful day together, going for a walk and even having a picnic, they had laughed together and told each other how happy they were and sometimes they were just foolish like children, it was as if they were back in the happy days in their childhood. And then Raoul had said they wouldn't see each other for two days but he couldn't tell her why. It would have been enough that she knew and never forgot that he loved her.

At first she was suspicious that something was absolutely wrong, but then he smiled and told her she would understand in two days - the way he told her that caused her to think he was getting her a really lovely present and of course she would not spoil his fun and question him further.

She was not really concentrating on her performance that evening and it was a poor performance, she knew herself and already dreaded to read what the critics made of this. Her thoughts were somewhere else - with Raoul. So she was not surprised that Erik waited for her behind the mirror in her dressing room, as soon as she had locked the door he asked if he was allowed to come in.

"I know I've been dreadful," she sighed, "You don't need to berate me."

Erik was silent, which made her nervous. Usually he would start a long lecture what she could have done better.

"Erik?" she asked, noticing that he shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other and twisted his gloves in his hands nervously. He suddenly gave the impression of a shy young boy who wants desperately to ask a girl if she would like to play with him but does not dare speaking to her.

"If... if you are not..." he cleared his throat and began anew: "If you are not already invited for dinner tonight, may I ask... ask if you would... dine with me?" He couldn't help stuttering, he was far too nervous now.

She considered saying no, but she felt guilty after spending a day with Raoul. "Erik... you know that... Raoul and I..." she began.

He waived a hand. "Yes, you told me and I allowed you to play engagement. I won't go back on my word only because he did and canceled his voyage to the Antarctic. But..." His stance changed and he became submissive again. "...would you dine with me? Please?"

"I'm tired, Erik."

Erik knelt down before her and lifted his hands, but didn't touch her's. "Please. I won't keep you up late. Your room is ready for you, it is warm and... I made köttbullar for you."

Christine's eyes went wide. It was a traditional Swedish dish and Erik must have gone through great length to find an authentic recipe. "Well... it would be a shame to have to throw that away," she reluctantly agreed, "But I want to go to bed early and I want to leave whenever I want."

Erik jumped to his feet and clapped his hands and Christine was sure he would start dancing around every moment now. Sometimes it was so easy to make him happy and he had a habit of strongly expressing his happiness at least around her. "Of course! You are my guest, not my prisoner!" he promised. He would have promised anything now, for this was a critical point in his plan - he needed her to be with him or she could always decide to run to Raoul and ask him to run away with her for good if she learned of the duel. Only if she was with him she would not have that opportunity.

* * *

Christine noticed that Erik was even more nervous than usual. She was accustomed to him being at the verge of panic whenever he thought he might have done anything wrong - and even her shifting in her chair could cause him to ask anxiously what he could do to make her comfortable - but he was so obsessed with creating a nice evening for her, she felt like he had planned every of her moves so detailed that one step smaller than he had anticipated would set him off.

"Don't you want to eat something?" Christine asked, thinking it odd to have him acting like a slave at the dinner of a queen regent.

"Thank you, my dear, but no," he answered, then added in an attempt to make a joke: "Don't worry, it is not poisoned, I already had some of it and it is delicious. I bought a recipe book with Swedish cuisine, so I could always cook everything you like. And maybe you help me learning Swedish? I have some books, but learning a language from a book is like learning singing solely from books - absolutely impossible." He stopped himself before he would start to talk more to himself than to her. He had been alone for far too many years and started to talk to himself and sometimes he would just voice his thoughts which was rather disturbing to her for she never knew if he was talking to her or to himself. He would have to stop doing that.

Erik insisted that Christine would go to bed early, as she herself wished to do so. He had prepared her room, lit the fire in the chimney, decorated the room with flowers and placed a basket with everything a lady might need to be comfortable on the table, just to make sure. Christine wondered about the large supply of soaps, perfume, cosmetics. She didn't plan to stay more than one night, and this only because she didn't want to risk him going mad with fury again, so why had he bought that much? But she already knew that Erik had the habit to buy large supplies as if he was expecting a siege every day. He had told her that he had been in the Opera during the war and the Commune and that this was not easy. She wondered if he needed this large supply of everything he might possibly need eventually to feel better.

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	8. Chapter 8

**Matter of Honour**

Christine woke up because Erik lit the gaslight in her room. "I'm sorry to have to wake you up that early, my dear, but we have to go. Please get dressed," he said gently.

"Hmmm? What time is it?" she asked, not really awake.

"Three o'clock in the morning, my dear. We have to leave soon, so please get dressed," Erik answered.

"Three o'clock? Why do we have to go? Where?" Christine sat up in her bed, not understanding why they should leave that early and where they should go. She didn't know of any appointment that day and certainly nothing that might require her to get up early.

Erik sighed. This was the moment he had dreaded and that had kept him from sleep that night. The moment when he had to make his ultimatum. "My dear," he began his carefully rehearsed speech, "As you might see I did lay out two dresses for you here on your settee. A white one, complete with shoes, bag, hat, gloves and even fitting jewelry, and a black one without any jewelry."

Christine shuddered and berated herself for her naivety. Why had she accepted his invitation for dinner? Why hadn't she declined? Why had she trusted Erik to keep his word and set her free in the morning? She had been in his flat repeatedly and he had allowed her to go whenever she asked, she had come to trust him that he would never ever imprison her again.

Erik knelt down beside her bed and looked down on his hands that were twisting around themselves as if he tried to make a knot in his fingers. "Christine, my dear, I know you will be angry with me now, but please hear me out: I challenged the Vicomte de Chagny to a duel which will take place in four hours time. I plan to kill him, if he does not kill me first, so you will need the black dress."

"A duel? Erik, are you mad? You can't... you **promised** not to harm him!"

"I promised, yes, but a duel is not murder, is it?" Erik replied softly, still staring at his hands. He could not look up to her now and face the agonizing fear in her blue eyes. "It is a matter of honour, my dear, it is how gentlemen deal with their quarrels."

"You can't! You wouldn't!" Christine gasped in horror.

"Are you afraid for him or for me, my dear?" Erik asked, curious, even if he could guess the answer.

Christine jumped out of the bed and grasped his sparse brown hair, jerking his head up so he had to look at her. She looked wonderful, dressed in her nightshirt, barefooted but burning with anger. "You will not kill him!" she yelled. Erik bit his lip and tried not to let her see that it was painful how she pulled at his hair. "You will not kill him!"

The masked man grabbed her wrist and forced her to release his hair. She had some strains in her hand, but didn't realize that. "Christine, you are afraid for him, aren't you?" he asked, irritated that she didn't follow the secret script he had in his head, "Otherwise you would ask me to run away with you, wouldn't you?"

Christine sat down on her bed, looking down on Erik who was still on his knees before her. "This can't be real," she whispered, "This is just a nightmare."

Erik touched her hand and she withdrew it with a shudder. "My dear, it is no dream, I'm sorry. It is for you to decide now, you have the lives of both presumptive bridegrooms in your hand now for that duel might cost my life as well - even if it is highly unlikely." He bit his lip for he knew he had already said too much, voicing his thoughts.

"What?"

Erik shook his head. There was no going back now. "I fought many duels in my life, my dear, and always won - but I doubt that young Raoul de Chagny has the guts to kill me, even if I was on my knees before him with my hands tied behind my back."

"Erik, are you serious?" Christine asked, not wanting to believe that Erik, who had acted as if he was her friend only hours ago, would do such terrible thing.

"Absolutely. Do you want to see the letter which confirms the appointment?" Erik was all business now, he even got up from his humble position and sat on a chair.

"Erik, no, there must be another way!" she pleaded with him.

"Of course, my dear, the choice is yours: you can wear black and watch him die, or you can put on the white dress and the carriage will take us to a chapel and we will get married right then and there. Of course I will miss the duel then, losing my honor, but then..." he chuckled, "I don't care about that. Rules of honor are just to bind fools and make winning harder, so why bother?"

"Erik, please, you can't..."

"I can, and I will. Now, my dear, get dressed. You can't go either to our wedding or to witness the duel in your nightshirt, can you?"

* * *

Erik paced in his livingroom, restless and hopelessly nervous. He had acted calm and composed before her, but he didn't feel like that. He had learned to control his emotions or they would drown him and right now he felt like screaming and clawing at the walls, smashing something or, yes, killing someone. But he would do nothing of that. He bit his nails until he bled and didn't even notice, he paced the same path again and again: from the table to the piano, to the chimney, back to the table. Again and again, without noticing.

Erik jumped as the door to Christine's room was opened and he heard the slight clack of her shoes on the floor. Christine wore the black dress and Erik felt his heart sink. Black, she wore black! She was supposed to wear the white dress! Had he underestimated her disgust and fear for him? She had always told him how much she admired his genius, that his music made her forget his mask - at least she would not hate him, would she? Or had he overestimated her love for the Vicomte? Would she rather watch him die than marrying Erik?

"Black, Christine?" Erik asked, his voice quavering, "Do you really want to see him die at my hands? Must I spill blood once more? O Christine, I killed so many men, I saw the panic in their eyes when they knew this was the end... it makes me sick. I do not want to kill, but you leave me no choice!" He could have kicked himself. This was the worst he could say when he wanted her to marry him, he wanted her to find a life at his side less horrible than having to see her childhood-sweetheart die.

She flinched. "Erik," she said in a voice that had nothing to do with her usual voice, it was somehow lifeless, "I will marry you, but I won't wear white at our wedding."

Only now did he realize that she wore the white bag, the white shoes and the jewelry to the black dress. He swallowed hard as the message sank in. She would marry him, yes, but she refused to pretend to be a happy bride. She looked like she was on her way to her own funeral. "Christine, you are not going to be sacrificed to a dragon - I won't eat you." Erik couldn't believe he had actually said that. This was going completely wrong, he was so far off every carefully planned situation he was a babbling fool. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. No, not that about not eating you... of course won't actually eat you..." He was making everything worse and he knew it, only he had no idea what he could do now. "Can you... just go back to your room and we try that again?" he asked, sounding utterly helpless.

"Why? It would change nothing," Christine asked, she didn't understand why Erik was suddenly so nervous.

"Very well," Erik gave in with a sigh, "If you like to wear black at your own wedding, so be it. Wait a minute, I'll be ready in a moment."

Erik had to use the toilet before they left. Nerves, it was just nerves, he told himself repeatedly, but right now he suffered diarrhoea. It was humiliating, but he had to do that now.

Erik carefully washed his hands, straightened his collar and tied his cravat. If she wouldn't wear white, at least he would try to look as normal as possible, despite the mask. A white mask with golden ornaments. It was his wedding and if the bride wouldn't be beaming with happiness, the groom would have to do that.

"Christine? Are you ready?" He asked and she got up from the couch where she had waited for him. "My dear, I promise, it won't be that bad. You will be my wife and not my prisoner, I will fulfill your every wish, I love you so much!"


	9. Chapter 9

**Matter of Honour**

Raoul was nervous. They had left the carriage and the driver a few hundred meters away at the street for the undergrowth was too thick for a horse to pass through and any carriage would get stuck in the mud. The two men were dressed in black, as it was custom when going to a duel, but of course they wore boots in these area. Good footing was absolutely necessary to get there, much more to have a steady aim.

"At what distance does he want us to shoot here?" Raoul asked, the trees and bushes made it absolutely impossible to have a correct aim at more than three meters. But of course a duel would require at least 40 meters, and, if both wouldn't hit each other at that distance, 20 meters. Absolutely impossible. They would not even see each other then.

The Comte shrugged and looked around helplessly. The only open space he could see was the river. "Is there a sandbank? Maybe he wants to go out to the water."

"I know of no sandbank," Raoul answered, looking around, "Are you sure it is here?"

Phillippe took out the letter and read aloud: "From the abandoned inn you follow the road four kilometers, then you will see a huge oak tree. Struck in that oak tree is a piece of iron, as if the tree was growing around an iron rod. Leave the carriage there and go directly to the Seine, there is no road but at the riverbank you can see a much neglected jetty." He turned around and pointed to some stumps of wood that were visible. "I guess this was a jetty once, but the gangplanks have already rotted away."

Raoul checked his watch. "Why is he not here? And where is his second?"

Phillippe sucked in a deep breath. He knew perfectly that Erik would not come, but what could he say or do now without giving their plan away? He checked his watch. According to the plan, the marriage should have taken place already - if not, Erik was on his way there, with a second and the girl in tow, ready to set the backup plan in motion. Phillippe had loaded the pistols - all four of them, the seconds would be ready to shoot the other opponent if he broke the rules - himself. All of them had just trick bullets and Phillippe had even fired one trick bullet as a test before - they really exploded to dust the moment they left the shaft. No one could ever harm anyone with these bullets, not even when pressing the pistol's muzzle directly to the other man's breast. Well, maybe some burn wound, but certainly nothing more.

"What sort of duel is that anyway, without any neutral conciliator?" Raoul complained.

"A little late for these worries," Phillippe replied, wondering if his brother had the nerve to go through with any duel at all, "But he agreed that I act as your second and the conciliator at the same time, giving you unfair advantage. You read the letter."

"Where is he then?" Raoul demanded, growing angry now, "He called me a boy and a coward but I am here ready for a duel that might cost my life or his. Where is he now?"

"A man without honour," Phillippe sighed. Erik would not show up, he knew that. But where was the messenger who should inform them that Erik would not come? They had agreed that if Erik would not appear in person he would send his second to deliver a letter so they wouldn't have to wait in the damp and cold grounds for too long. "Calm yourself, dear brother, you mustn't fret now."

"Right. I need a steady aim," Raoul agreed and tried to calm himself, taking deep breaths.

* * *

Erik helped Christine into the waiting cab and instructed the driver to take them to the civil registry office.

"A civil marriage?" Christine asked. Erik had told her about a chapel, or had that been just another one of his lies?

Erik nodded. "If you want to we can always have a second marriage in church, but right now a purely civil marriage is more convenient." He didn't tell her that he had not found a priest who would take his bribe money and perform the wedding ceremony when Erik instructed him to declare them legally married no matter what the bride would do or say or try to run and he would have to hold her back, but there was an official he could bribe. It cost a fortune, but then, he would get a legal wedding. Erik had relied on that official before when he needed papers for various fake identities.

"Erik, please... be reasonable. What good would that marriage do? I... would only hate you," Christine told him, "If you love me, as you claim you would, you would not put me through this."

"My dear, I do love you. This marriage is only to prevent you from marrying any other man - I do not expect more, I promise. I will be a gentleman, I will be your guardian and I will further your career, that's all. Don't worry, my dear, everything will be just fine."

Erik was serious. He never intended to harm her, he only wanted to have her company, that would have to be enough for him. He knew how disgusting his appearance was, so he always tried to keep himself properly dressed and not showing an inch of his skin. He never dared touch her without wearing gloves. He did everything to make her as comfortable as one could be in his presence, but he refused to be all alone for the rest of his natural lifespan.

"Erik, please..." she tried again to persuade him to give up on his plan, "If you love me..."

Erik turned to face her. "I do love you, Christine, and I will show you the magnitude of my love in the days to come - or do you want me to tell the driver to take us to the duel instead? It is not too late for that, my dear."

Christine shuddered and whispered: "No."

"I'm glad to hear that," Erik's voice was dripping with acid sarcasm, "Then our wedding will take place as planned."

* * *

It was no happy marriage. The bride was crying hard and the bridegroom held her arm in an iron grip to make sure she would not escape in the last minute. The bribed official was sure this was a forced marriage and asked himself if he had gone too far now. The bridegroom masked and fuming with anger, the bride crying and begging him not to make her do this. So there was no speech and no questions if they really wanted to get married. The bride was crying so hard, she would never have been able to say anything.

Erik signed first. The name he gave was "Erik Louis Amédeé Marquis de Rais". His hand was shaking so much he needed a moment to compose himself. What cruel self-imposed torture this was, claiming a name that would forever remind him of this moment - a name he would have to bear from now on, for her sake. He had used his self-given first name Erik for he liked that one most, the other two names borrowed from composers he loved - Ludwig van Beethoven and Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. Marquis was a title he liked and that would open some doors for in many countries nobility was still the key to a better life. The name de Rais was deliberately chosen from the notorious Gille de Rais, the man behind _La barbe bleue - bluebeard._ What a cruel irony, that was utterly lost on Christine that moment.

"Come on, my dear, your signature!" Erik demanded harshly, "If you can't give me your wedding vow you can at least sign this document! Or do you really want to force me to forge your signature?"

"How low can you get?" she whispered as she took the pen and signed the wedding contract.

Erik snatched the papers from the official and handed over a large bundle of banknotes. "Thank you for your absolute discretion," he said coldly.

When they left the office, Erik had to lean against the wall for support. He was so sick to his stomach that he just wanted to throw up, but he could not. His body refused to grant him that relief now. He hated and despised himself like he never had in his life.

"What a wonderful beginning for our marriage," he mumbled, "At least it can't get worse from now on."


	10. Chapter 10

**Matter of Honour**

* * *

The Daroga was waiting impatiently for Erik who had promised to fetch him and take him to the place they had chosen for the duel. The carriage was late and Nadir was surprised to see Christine, she was wearing the black dress and weeping profusely. Erik was in no better shape, he was trembling so hard, he could barely open the carriage door to get out. Erik was dressed in a formal suit, but he had taken off his cravat and loosened his collar.

"Erik! What...?" Nadir felt as if he had lost the ability to speak right now. He just found no words to ask what he wanted to know.

"You can congratulate us - we are newlyweds," Erik informed him, but didn't look like a happy bridegroom. He looked like he had the worst hangover any man ever had, but somehow Nadir doubted that Erik had been drinking anything.

"You forced her, you bastard!" Nadir punched Erik so hard, the other man fell back against the carriage, "You... you vile scoundrel! Blackguard! Swine!" Every curse word was accompanied with a heavy punch. Erik blocked them with his left arm, knowing the force of the blows would cause severe bruises on his arm, and reached for a knife with his right hand.

"Careful what you say, old friend," Erik whispered and Nadir looked down at the knife pressed to the front of his trousers, "One more word and you're going to regret it!"

Nadir backed away, shaking his head. "You wouldn't... Erik, tell me this is not true! You forced her!"

"No, she chose the wedding of one bridegroom over the funeral of the other one," Erik explained. It was more than enough explanation.

Erik asked if they could talk in the Daroga's flat and told the driver to wait for them.

* * *

"A happy wedding in the Madeleine?" Nadir snapped and crossed his arms before his breast as they were in his livingroom. Christine sat on the couch, sniffing but no longer crying and Erik ran to and fro like a panther in a cage. He really reminded of a black panther now.

"She had the choice," Erik defended himself.

"What choice was that, marry you or you shoot Raoul?" Christine accused him.

"Apropos Raoul - Nadir, would you please deliver a letter to him?" Erik asked, another feeling welling up in him: malicious glee. He would so love to go there personally and tell the rich young boy face to face that the duel has been canceled for he was already married to Christine - but that would require him to leave Christine alone and he didn't dare that right now for he was not sure what she might do in her hysterical fit.

"You really are the limit," Nadir scolded Erik, "I thought this would be beneath you. How low can you go? Tell me, **my friend** , how low can go go?"

"Fine. Despise me, hate me, spit in my face and call me all vile names you like - it changes nothing!" Erik replied. He had intended to sound harsh, but he could not prevent the quaver in his voice that betrayed how much he was ashamed of himself. Erik swallowed hard and sank down in a chair, burying his masked face in his hands. "It is over. I won. No one, not even I, can change that now," he murmured, more to himself than to Christine or Nadir.

Nadir relaxed a bit. He had seen this before. Erik seldom knew feelings like shame and guilt but right now he showed every sign of remorse he had ever seen in the masked man.

Erik took out a letter from his pocket. "Here. Bring this to the Vicomte de Chagny. Tell him..." Erik swallowed. "...that I had no choice. I'm sorry."

"You planned this from the beginning, didn't you?" Nadir asked, "I was so busy trying to find out how you would manipulate the duel that I never considered that you never intended to go there in the first place."

"I have no honor," Erik answered sadly, "You know that."

"Wherefor?" Nadir demanded, "If you hope to win her love you've just botched it completely."

Erik shook his head and looked at Christine. They had been speaking in French all the time so she understood every word. "I never hoped to win her love. Only her company - and that I have just secured. Only... only her gentle company." He fought back tears. He would not cry now, not before his old friend, not when Christine was sitting there tear-stained. He took a deep breath and got up, offering his gloved hand to his wife. "Come, my dear, let's return home and prepare for the honeymoon trip."

* * *

Raoul looked at his brother. "He's one hour late. He won't come. Let's go home, the coward is..." He was cut short when a man approached them. It was clearly not Erik. It was the Persian and he looked extremely angry.

"He won't come," the Persian informed them without caring to exchange any polite greetings, "The worthless scoundrel gave us all the runaround."

"What are you talking about?" Raoul asked.

The Persian handed him a letter.

" _To the most honorable Vicomte de Chagny_  
 _My sincere apology for not presenting myself at the chosen time to demand satisfaction. You have every right to call me dishonorable now and I will have to accept that insult for it is true._  
 _I had another, much more important, appointment today._  
 _Nothing, not even my honor or my right to call myself a gentleman, could make me miss my own wedding to Christine Daae._ "

Raoul stopped reading. "This... this is a lie, isn't it? She'd never marry him! She'd never... she said..."He was shaking so hard, he would have fallen if his brother had not caught him in time. The Persian took the letter from Raoul's hand and continued to read.

" _I owe you my deepest apology, sir, and with all due respect remain_  
 _your humble servant_  
 _Erik_ "

"This can't be true!" Raoul screamed.

"Unfortunately it is," the Persian confirmed, "I met them this morning. They are married and preparing for a trip, but... she looked like she was coming from a funeral and not a wedding. She was very upset."

"He forced her. O god, he forced her to marry him! And she was so sure he would never do such a vile thing, she always said that around her he was a gentleman," Raoul whispered horrified as the parts of this puzzle fell in place and he finally saw the whole picture, "He never planned to come here. Come, it is not too late now, come, we have to rescue her! Do you know where they might be now?"

"No," the Persian replied sadly, "I needed three hours to come here."

"He's three hours ahead of us and having to drag her with him will slow him down. Hurry up, we can catch him!" Raoul was eager to go after Erik, hunt him down and this time he would not demand satisfaction, he would just shoot the fiend down and leave him to die in the dirt.

"And where are we going to start our search?" Phillippe sighed, "They might have left Paris in any direction by now."

* * *

The months that followed were horrible for Raoul. He knew his beloved Christine was in the hands of an unscrupulous madman and he had no idea what she must be going through at that time.

Six month later he found a newspaper article about the singer "Christine Daae" announcing an European tour. She would travel though Europe and grace all major opera houses with her perfect voice. There was a picture showing her in perfect health. At least she was alive and not badly harmed. She told the journalists that she would travel in her own train cab that would be coupled on to normal trains.

Raoul rushed to the train station to see her depart. He was not the only one there - a crowd had gathered to bid her good-by and wish her good luck. Raoul recognized some people from the opera, mainly scene shifters, cleaning women and wardrobe ladies. Christine had always been friendly with them and never arrogant so they loved her. Some singers and dancers where there as well and even the managers of the opera.

When Christine went to the private train cab, she stopped as she saw Raoul. She could not help reaching out to him. "Raoul!" she breathed softly.

"Christine - are you unharmed?" Raoul asked, he simply had to even when others might hear it.

She nodded. "Be happy, Raoul, I need you to be happy enough for both our lives. I love you." Then she entered the cab and was gone.

Raoul sat at a bench at the train station for hours after her train had left. She was gone. Unhappily married to Erik. And Raoul felt more alone than he ever had in his life.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Thank you for reading! Please review! The next chapter will be up Wednesday.


	11. Chapter 11

**Matter of Honour**

* * *

 **Ten Years Later**

Raoul de Chagny was at the opera again for **she** would sing tonight. He still went to her performances, applauded her and send her flowers, acting as if he was just another admirer. He was not and he knew. He knew because she had written him a letter every Christmas and every birthday. She never wrote much, just wished him the best.

He went through one of the corridors leading to the first balcony boxes after the performance, as he suddenly saw her there. Christine wore a nearly white dress, the man at her side was dressed in black. If this was Erik, he was in very bad shape. The man looked like a walking skeleton - nothing new in that - but the way he walked gave away his frail health. He leaned heavily on his cane and was barely able to drag his left leg with him. It was like he could barely control his left leg. His left arm was hanging at his side, the hand trembling, a golden ring on his finger.

Raoul went to them and greeted Christine with much enthusiasm, completely ignoring her companion. The managers of the opera - always concerned about the well-being of their diva, the lady who was named "supreme soprano of the world" and "primadonna assoluta" and "best singer the world has ever heard" - felt obligued to introduce him:

"Madame Christine, the Vicomte de Chagny, and Marquis de Rais."

Raoul stared at Erik. He wore a black dress suit, as everyone in the opera would, but no top-hat. His head was completely bald and the face covered with a white beard, not a white beard like wise old men often had, this white looked dirty even when properly cleaned. His skin was grey and had brown freckles, making his appearance even more macabre. The nose - it was a clever made false one, Raoul was sure of that.

"You, sir, have no right to be in my presence," Raoul snapped.

"Raoul!" Christine rebuked him immediately, but in vain. Ten years of carefully nurturing his hatred for Erik got the better of Raoul.

"You are a liar and a thief. A coward. Your mere presence is an offence to every gentleman in this room," he hissed, but kept his voice down to avoid a scandal.

"Monsieur..." one of the managers tried to intervene.

Erik remained stoic at the insult. He should demand satisfaction now, but he did not. He merely nodded with a weary smile. Raoul noted that only one corner of Erik's mouth moved, the other one remained as it was and he was slightly drooling without even noticing.

"Monsieur, I apologize..." one of the managers began.

"No," Erik cut him short, "This man has every right to call me all names he pleases. Monsieur de Chagny, Messieurs, Madame - please excuse me." He left with a stiff bow, walking carefully and slowly, heavily leaning on his cane. One step with the right leg, move the cane with the right hand, then he dragged the left leg somehow under his body, swayed a bit testing if the leg would hold, then moved the right leg again. An odd way to move, slowly, painfully even for those who watched, but he clenched his teeth and remained upright, not needing the help of another person.

"What was that?" one of the managers asked as the other one hurried to assist Christine who had suddenly paled visibly and was close to hyperventilating.

"I'm sorry," Raoul said with a deep bow, "please accept my apology. May I invite you to a drink as a humble token of my embarrassment for my bad behavior?"

To every bystanders surprise the diva accepted graciously as a queen regent.

* * *

"This was not nice," Christine rebuked Raoul as she sat down on her chair at the vanity in her dressingroom. There were so many flowers, they had to use the corridor to put them up as well.

She took the glass of champagne Raoul handed her with a deep bow. "I am really sorry, Christine - may I still call you Christine?"

She laughed. "O yes. Everyone calls me Christine nowadays. I don't use surnames, all Europe knows me just as 'Christine' and I like that very much."

"I'm glad to find you well," Raoul answered stiffly.

"O Raoul. It has been such a long time - and we have so much to talk about. But not now and not here - would you come to my house tomorrow?"

"Do you think that's a good idea? With Erik around?" Raoul was skeptical.

"Why not? It would not be proper if he was not at home. We can talk in private, don't worry, I'll arrange that with him. But now I have to take him home, I shouldn't have taken him here anyways. It's too much for him now."

"When can I be there?" Raoul asked, confused about what had happened.

"Right after breakfast - that is 11 o'clock," she gave him a wide smile, "At least for singers who stay up all night."

* * *

Raoul knew her elegant house in Paris with the large trees. The trees kept everyone from seeing what was going on in the large gardens.

A maid opened the door and lead Raoul to the lavishly furnished parlor where Christine already waited for him.

This time she greeted him with a kiss on the cheek like she had done as a child.

"Where is...?" Raoul refused to speak Erik's name.

"He's in the garden. Sitting in the sun is one of the few things he can enjoy nowadays," Christine said and looked out of the window. A figure was sitting in the garden in a grandfather chair. He was wrapped in warm blankets and a nurse was at his side. A mongrel dog was sitting at his feet chewing on a bone.

"He's ill," Raoul observed.

Christine nodded. "Last year he suffered apoplectic seizure. It is a miracle he's still alive, even more so that he can speak and walk again."

"Many things happened since last time we spoke."

"Ten years, Raoul, ten years. I read about your adventure in the newspapers. They named you a hero - I was so proud of you," she answered with a smile and sat down on the couch.

"The expedition was a failure," Raoul sighed, "Unfortunately. I was the first one to see that and urged the others to return without trying to reach our main goal. So we came back, the ship and crew - we lost only two men. But we didn't accomplish anything in our mission. I do not like being falsely called hero when the expedition was complete failure."

"It wasn't," Christine replied gently, "There was another expedition. They decided to abandon their mission and return home only two days later - the ship was struck in the ice and crushed, their bodies were found two years later by the rescue mission team. You saved everyone's life on your ship."

"I didn't come here to discuss my adventures as a naval officer. I read everything about your career, Christine. They love you, the world is at your feet, everyone adores you. The soprano of the century - without any rival in the whole world! What a success!"

"Thank you."

They fell silent, lost in their thoughts. Christine smiled as she looked out of the window and saw Erik gently caressing the dog. It was a mixed breed stray dog he had taken in and that dog followed him everywhere, even slept in his bed. "I guess we have all day to catch up after such a long time," she said and looked at Raoul, expecting him to begin his tale.

When Raoul remained silent she said: "Raoul, do you know what really happened ten years ago? That fateful day you were supposed to present yourself at the chosen field of honor and I married Erik?"

Raoul nodded. "Yes, I do. My brother told me everything before I left for the expedition to the antarctic. He could not live with his betrayal any longer and was afraid I might die and he never had a chance to apologize."

Christine chuckled. "He lasted much longer than Erik. Erik could not keep his secret, it was too heavy on his conscience. He confessed everything to me three days after the wedding, sank to his knees and begged my forgiveness."

"O. I never thought he might have a tender conscience," Raoul replied.

Christine was suddenly very serious again. "He does not. He's not a good man, never has been. It was very hard to live at his side, especially in the beginning."

Raoul leaned back, steeling himself for her tale. He expected the worst and knew that she needed to unburden herself. She had no one to talk to - except Erik, who would certainly not react well to her telling him her secret thoughts about him.


	12. Chapter 12

**Matter of Honour**

"The first months were horrible," Christine began to tell her tale, "He kept me prisoner, telling me we had to adjust to each other. I was really horrified of what he would do to me - but he decided to be a gentleman, keeping his promise he wouldn't touch me. He did not force me to do anything, in fact, he behaved like a servant, doing everything for me. But far too late I realized that in his servility he had more control over me than any blackmail or violence would ever allow him. He did everything for me, pampering me, but at the same time controlling every little detail in my life.

"After half a year he suddenly announced that he was ready to keep his promise and lay the world at my feet. He had somehow managed to organize a three years tour. He had bought a train car and had it adapted for our needs, the train car was like a miniature flat, complete with two bedrooms, a bathroom and a livingroom. Our wardrobe trunks would be in the second train car he had bought for us. We could travel very comfortably through Europe, it must have been very difficult to secure the contracts with the different railway companies so they would couple our train cars to their trains and transport us to the next city.

"Erik always used telegram to arrange everything - we would stay in the best hotel, I would give concerts, sing at the opera, I was treated like a queen, he was always busy making sure everything would be to my liking. He did everything, but I had no saying in this. I have to admit that at first I really appreciated his efforts for I would never have been able to do this alone, the logistics was too much for me to comprehend. But then - I didn't even know where my luggage was, he would place my clothing for the day on a chair for me each morning, he never forgot the tiniest detail. Without him I was absolutely helpless, especially when there was no one speaking French and I needed him to translate for me.

"When I first defied him, I thought he'd kill me. It was such a little thing, though. I had realized that he controlled me completely, he controlled my daily routine, it was his decision what I would eat, drink, wear - everything. And one day I was so fed up I told him I wanted to make my own decisions. The reason our quarrel started was absolutely hilarious - I wanted another bag and he decided that the other one would be better with that dress." Christine laughed bitterly. "Such a small thing, but... well, I told him that I was not a lifeless doll but a human being and wanted to make my own decisions. He replied I was behaving childish and ungrateful. That was when I accused him of being my impresario and showing me off like a freak in a freakshow."

Christine looked out of the window, watching as Erik carefully started to walk in the garden, from time to time throwing a ball for his dog to fetch.

"What did he do?" Raoul asked, expecting the worst.

"He hit me. I woke in hospital, with him at my side, telling me I had been robbed but was save now. Well, I did not tell the doctors or the police the truth, I was too ashamed. Yes, I was ashamed for I knew that I had provoked him to do that."

Raoul clenched his fists. He had a mind to make Erik pay for this, but seeing the frail man fall and struggling to get up again he knew even a slight slap might kill him now.

"Erik brought me to a health resort, we spend months there. He begged my forgiveness, promising he would change his ways, well, he did. At first he punished himself, he nearly died as he cut himself with a knife, I finally had to forbid him to harm himself further. Erik then started to teach me to fight back, told me how I might defend myself. When I first drew blood in our fake duels I gained his respect. From that day on he began to treat me better. He still insisted on doing everything for me, but he asked my opinion and I was allowed to go shopping alone, he accepted that I would go to balls and dinners, I would talk with other men - o yes, I had so many admirers wherever I went - and even dance. He stood by, watching me from the shadows, as he had always done. I guess most men didn't even know he was my husband and not my booker.

"After my tour he took me to a small village in the alps to spend one summer there. I wondered why, but I soon learned that people there were very poor and he was paying a large sum. We were treated like royalty and they overlooked his mask, even his deformity when he one day decided to feel the sun in his face. An old man told me that he knew Erik for he had been there before and his money had saved the whole village from bankruptcy and a greedy Baron who wanted to buy their landed property.

"After three weeks there I found him at the paddock caressing an old horse. An old woman - well, she looked like an old woman, but in truth she was not much older than I was, as I learned later - told me he had been there ten years ago. He had paid them not to slaughter the old horse when it couldn't work any more because of the gelding's bad shoulder. This moved me deeply, the old Ardennes horse had cost him a small fortune, but after Erik had bought the horse at trice the prize a healthy young gelding would be worth he paid the peasant to care for the horse. The horse was carefully nursed for it was the best income that family would ever have, so they tried everything to keep it alive and well.

"When I saw Erik tending to the horse, I saw him as a man for the first time, not the terrifying monster, not the pathetic wreck crying at my feet, but a man. He cared for a horse that had not even been his, he had bought it when it was hurt and ready to be slaughtered. I was moved by that gesture and came closer to them. Then I saw that the horse had a blind eye, it had run into a fence and was... deformed. It had only half a face, if you understand what I am talking about. But the huge gelding was such a darling, Erik taught me riding on his back, I was small enough he could carry me.

"One day when Erik lead the horse by the reins, me riding on his back, he stopped in the woods in a small clearance. Erik took off his shoes and socks and just stood there, wearing only his shirt and his trousers, carefully moving through the grass. I'll never forget the excitement I saw in his eyes as he felt grass under his bare feet for the first time in more than twenty years, when he caressed the trunk of a tree in wonder as if he had never seen a tree before. He was like a child then, marvelling at the beauty of nature. That was when I first felt that I might love him.

"I have to admit that I somehow fell in love with him that summer. We would ride the horse, go for a walk in the woods, he taught me so many things about the woods, the fields, the river... we were like children playing and laughing. I had never associated innocence with him, but these weeks he was like an innocent boy.

"When we came back to Paris, the managers of the Opera begged me to be the primadonna again, it was almost ridiculous how much they were willing to degrade themselves to grovelling just to get me to sign a contract. I was world-famous then, I could have picked any opera house in the world, but I liked Paris best."

* * *

It was time for lunch and Christine asked Raoul if he would eat with them. Raoul agreed, wondering how Erik would react.

Erik needed a rather long time until he finally sat in his grandfather chair. At his side was a nurse, a tall fat woman with a red face, but strong as a man. She was at least trice as heavy as Erik and could handle him. Erik hadn't seen the Vicomte - or if he had, he ignored him.

Raoul and Christine were still in the parlor. "Your servants?" Raoul asked.

Christine sighed. "Don't show too much surprise when you see them. One of the maids is deformed and wears a mask, much like Erik's, only that he does not cover his face in the house. He likes not to wear a mask."

They went to the diningroom.

"Erik, we have a guest," Christine announced.

Erik shot the Vicomte an angry glare. "Him? You invited him of all people?" he asked "Without my consent?"

"O Erik, shut up. Or do I have to go on holiday again?" Christine talked to him like a mother to a disobedient child. Raoul wondered why going on a holiday suddenly sounded like a threat.

Erik glared at her and the Vicomte, but bit his lip and kept silent.

The maid who served the soup was covered in a mask and wore a shawl, just as Christine had warned Raoul. Christine ordered wine for her and Raoul, but as Erik raised a hand to indicate that he too would like wine, told the maid that Erik had to contend himself with tea, as per the doctors request.

With a sigh Erik gave in and allowed the nurse to help him to place a napkin on his lap and a second one to cover his breast. Raoul saw the shame and the humiliation in the other man's eyes. Finally Erik had a discussion with the nurse, he insisted that he could eat alone. He could use only his right hand, but with the soup that would be enough. Erik faced Raoul directly. "Take it from an old fool, Monsieur: be nice to younger people for they just have to wait until you are too old and weak and then they get back at you."

Christine smiled at him. "Erik, you brought it all on yourself. I won't hear any complaints, do I make myself clear?"

Raoul watched with interest as Erik narrowed his eyes and clenched his fists - the right hand, that is, the left didn't really curl into a fist but was struck halfway. It was degrading, but what could Erik do? He couldn't use his left hand or his left leg, he needed the nurse to help him with the main dish and Raoul was quite sure that Erik would not be able to dress himself alone. The nurse had to be at his side all the time.

"I wasn't that bad," Erik replied and lowered his eyes.

"Which is why I take the best care of you. As you didn't allow me to bring harm to myself carelessly eating or drinking, I do the same for you. You know that I'm right."

It was obvious that they had had this discussion before and there was nothing Erik could do now. "I guess I taught you too well," he sighed and put a piece of vegetable in his mouth. The nurse waited with a napkin to wipe away what his half-paralyzed lips couldn't hold. Erik could not hold the napkin with his left hand, even as he tried.

"I'm sorry, Monsieur," Raoul said, "I didn't want to shame you. If I had known..."

"You would have come here anyways," Erik answered wearily, "And I can't blame my wife. I guess she is telling you how very terrible our marriage was?"

Raoul blushed in embarrassment. He hadn't thought what it would be like for Erik to sit there and know exactly that his wife was sharing their secrets with her true love. "I didn't mean..."

Erik held up his hand - the left one - and tried to gesture. It was rather awkward as if the arm was moved by an inexperienced puppeteer. "Don't worry," he assured Raoul, "My dear wife and I do banter sometimes, that's all."

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Thank you for reading. Please review. Next chapter will be up on Monday. Have a nice weekend! :-)


	13. Chapter 13

**Matter of Honour**

Christine told the nurse to put Erik to bed, he needed his nap now, and asked Raoul to join her in the garden.

"A lovely garden," Raoul said. It was not what he was used to, but it was nice enough. At the far end of the garden was a building that contained stable, remise and a room for the driver who was at the same time the gardener. That man was busy giving two horses water. Christine approached the stable and fed the two horses apples. They were both white, a really huge Percheron gelding and a small white mare, an Icelandhorse.

"Erik bought the house and the horses when we returned to Paris. At first we had just the gelding, he was our carriage horse but sometimes Erik would ride him. I asked for a horse of my own and Erik bought the mare, she is a well-trained ladies' horse. When I'm on her back she only walks in amble or tölt. These walks keep the back at the same level all the time, I can hold a glass of water without spilling one drop when I ride her," Christine explained, gently stroking the horses, "Their names are Romeo and Juliette, for they love each other so much. They would rather break their jaws than being apart more than ten meters. It is as if they were tied together with an invisible rope that is only ten meters long."

"You must have made quite a fortune on your tour," Raoul observed, admiring the house and the horses.

Christine laughed. "I did. Erik made more. That was the first quarrel we had when we moved in - he confessed to me that he had used the tour to make money 'his way' - he's a thief, burglar and fraudster. I accused him that he would ruin my reputation had he ever been caught and he laughed it off saying he would of course never let anyone know about us, if caught he would deny having ever seen me." She smiled as she petted the horses. "He was never caught. Never. He got away with everything."

"Must have been very unpleasant," Raoul replied sympathetically.

"And you, Raoul? What did you do?"

"Well... I was devastated when I learned that you were married. My brother tried to cheer me up and took me to a sailing trip. We have a yacht, you know, in Toulon. We sailed to Corsica, where he introduced me to a Russian princess," Raoul told her but stopped himself and looked aside uncomfortably.

"I read it in the newspapers," Christine replied, "You married up."

"I wouldn't... um... well, actually yes. Her dowry was more than our family possessed. I'm a really rich man now. She spoke French but not one word Russian and knew nothing about her home country. She was a very well educated lady, never once slipping in her perfect behavior. She was too perfect, I guess. We tried to get along, but she was too well educated to show any feelings, no matter what. She had been taught never to want something, never to expect something and never to have her own mind.

"We didn't love each other but we loved our son. Phillippe Eugene Hector. Tell me, Christine, do you have children?" Raoul asked.

She laughed as they walked through the garden side by side. "From what? Holding hands or a kiss on the forehead?" She noticed her mistake. "I'm sorry, Raoul, I guess Erik spoiled me completely. Sometimes I acquire bad habits from him as if they were contagious. Please continue - where is your family now? I'd love to meet them one day."

"Phillippe Eugene Hector grows up in Toulon with his nanny and private teachers. I do love him, but I can't be the father he needs. I know he's mine, but... I never had much of an relationship with him. You see, we handed him over to nannies and private teachers from the first day on, as it is custom. I was unhappy in our marriage for my wife never told me anything but 'yes dear, whatever you want' and never had any ideas of her own. I would have loved to know what she was thinking, but she deemed that improper. She... behaved like she had no wishes, no feelings, she was just a perfectly trained puppet. I was so... frustrated that I decided to go on an adventure trip to the Antarctic as naval officer. You know what happened."

"Yes, you saved them all."

"The expedition was a failure."

"Raoul, maybe you do not understand - no knowledge, no piece of art, no amount of money is worth one human life. You saved human lives, that is much more than being the first one on the pole or finding a new species of animals, plants or whatever. You are a hero and you won't persuade me to see it in any other way."

Raoul sighed. "I never thought you would be that adamant."

"I had to be, living with Erik," Christine replied, "It was not all bad, though. I told you about our holiday, and moving in here was not bad either. We had much space and I was busy at the Opera... Well, we had a quarrel when Erik hired our servants. The driver came directly out of prison, the deformed maid was a prostitute who defied her whoremonger so he cut off her nose and ears. Erik brought her to our house and nursed her."

Raoul stopped and stared at Christine. "It is hard to picture Erik as good Samaritan."

"My words, exactly. Then I learned how he knew her. I was so furious, I hit Erik for the first time, he had a black eye for about two weeks."

"You hit him?" Raoul asked full of admiration, "I would have loved to see that!"

They chuckled together, clearly on Erik's expense. Christine felt slightly guilty but after what he had put her through for years controlling every detail of her live she felt he deserved that.

"Living with Erik was like a roller-coaster: up and down, up and down, not one moment of peace and quiet. Yes, he loves me, yes, he cares for me and yes, he pampered me, spoiled me completely, but on the other hand he frightened me, hurt me, threatened me. The worst was his perfect control over every aspect of my life. You have no idea how it is like to live when he knew everything and controlled everything. I had no privacy at all. I got him to ask my opinion, but that was that - he made the decisions alone for he 'knew better' and I 'knew better than to defy him'. It was not easy.

"Until two years ago. Erik started complaining about headache and noticed that he tended to suddenly forget things. It scared him and he finally showed me how to open his safes, showed me his notebooks. He has put money away in various bank accounts, has some investments, has some properties. He told me where I would find it should he one day forget about that. Slowly I regained control of my life.

"And then... last year, he suffered a terrible apoplectic seizure. It must have happened in the night, for his dog started barking like mad until I got up and went to him - Erik was lying beside his bed, unable to move his body, he couldn't talk, couldn't understand me, didn't recognize anyone - it was really bad. The doctor said he wouldn't survive the week."

Christine looked aside, pulling a few leaves absently off a bush. "I still regret what I did then. I told him that I would make him pay for everything he had done to me. Now he was at my mercy and I was in full control of everything. I hired a male nurse to care for him and left for trip to a health resort for three weeks. I'm glad he didn't die, I would never have been able to forgive myself for that.

"When I came home I found that the nurse had horribly neglected him. Erik was not able to talk, he still did not recognize me and he could not move at all. He was lying in his own filth, unable to call for help, unable to get away. A pitcher with water was on the desk, but he couldn't get it. I'll never forget how thirsty he was. How grateful he took the water I gave him. He must have been close to death then."

"What did you do about the nurse?"

Christine shook her head. "He's in prison for attempted murder. I contacted Erik's lawyers and they did the rest. Well, finding a good nurse was hard. Those who didn't run away screaming in terror at first sight of the patient were... thieves, lazy, neglected him or hurt him and one male nurse even tried to seduce me, when I refused, he tried to force me. The Pundjap lasso took care of him."

"How did Erik do that, when he was so ill?" Raoul asked, not understanding how a paralytic could wield any lasso. The Vicomte didn't know what a Pundjap lasso might be.

"Erik? No, he was in his bed at that time, trying to figure out how to move his hands," Christine laughed bitterly, "I did it. Erik had taught me to defend myself against him so I was never really in any danger."

"You know how to fight?" Raoul asked, not knowing what to make of this.

"To defend myself, yes. Unlike Erik I would never use it to attack anyone, but Erik was right, sometimes I need to defend myself. At first I did not believe him, but in the end I was thankful he had taught me," Christine admitted, then she looked up to a window. Erik was standing at the window, looking down at her. She smiled and waived her hand. He lifted his left hand - with his right he had to hold onto the windowsill to steady himself.

"It took six weeks until he could speak again. The first words he said was: 'Christine, love'." She pulled out her handkerchief to wipe away the tears that suddenly fell from her dark blue eyes. "It broke my heart. I felt so... guilty for leaving him when he needed me most. After that he recovered rather quickly. I could see his progress almost every hour. He remembered his name - calling himself Anatole at first, then Fancois, Hector and finally Erik. I guess he had used so many alias in his life, he didn't really remember that he called himself Erik lately. But it came back, his mind healed. We finally found the nurse you met today. He strongly disliked being cared for by a woman, but she was reliable to care for him so I decided she should stay. She was good, she didn't only care for him but encouraged him to do everything he could himself. Two months later he was crawling around in the house on hands and knees, but he was moving on his own rather than relying on the wheelchair being pushed around. It helped, he re-learned walking."

Raoul bit his lip to prevent himself from pointing out that it was hardly to be called "walking" what Erik could do now.

Christine faced the Vicomte. "Maybe it is poetic justice. Now I control every aspect of his life, as he had done to me. I don't hate him, in fact, I just got so used to him I can't imagine a life without him now. But he won't survive much longer. The doctor has been quite clear: Another seizure would kill him. I guess all I can do for Erik now is to make his last days better. And he has such a strong desire to live. It is a miracle he is alive, the doctor said Erik must have an iron will to push himself like that when he could just lie down and let others care for him. But... well, he's Erik. He wouldn't be Erik if he wouldn't try to cheat death, and I mean it quite literally."

"He's stronger than my wife then," Raoul replied softly.

Christine stared at him in shock. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm a widower. She died in childbirth twelve months after I left for the expedition," Raoul answered sadly.

"Just a moment... twelve months after you left? O... I'm so sorry. May I ask, the child...?" Now this was really awkward. His wife must have betrayed him, it wouldn't be possible otherwise.

"They both died," Raoul answered, "I still wonder if it is better this way or if I would have forgiven her. You see, I never loved her. Not like... you."

"Raoul, my husband is watching us!" Christine whispered, "I can't do this now. I can't... I love you, Raoul, but... we must be patient. Please understand, I can't... not now... Raoul, please leave. Leave for now, but come back, will you? When I invite you, you will come back?"

"Of course I will!"

* * *

When Christine went back to the house she found Erik had a visitor as well, the old Persian and Erik were sitting at the couch, Erik's dog lying on their laps - the dog was too large for just one lap.

"You can't get up now, you would wake him up!" Erik said.

"And how do I get my bag? Erik, I brought the book you lend me back, but how can I give it to you if I can't fetch my bag from your parlor?"

"Don't you dare waking my puppy! Just listen how peacefully he's snoring!" Erik snapped and Christine wondered how the dog could sleep at all, lying on the bony legs of two old men who were bantering loudly. Their voices seemed to be the only intact part of their bodies, even if the Persian was in better shape than Erik.

"Don't you dare sending your servants to take it from my bag!"

"Already done!"

"Scoundrel!"

"Policeman!" Somehow the word "policeman" sounded like a curse word the way Erik spoke it.

Christine laughed. "Good afternoon, Monsieur Khan," she greeted friendly, "Thank you for visiting. I hope you will stay for dinner?"

"Stop inviting unwanted guests!" Erik scolded her but the happy sparkle in his eyes betrayed his delight as he turned to his friend: "This time I will outrun you, old man!"

"That is to be seen!"

Christine rolled her eyes. Their running-game was more than ridiculous. Two old men, both barely able to crawl, trying to outrun each other from the ground floor to the first floor, both needing to support themselves with a cane in one hand and the handrail in the other. It would have been so much easier to eat in the kitchen at the ground floor, but no, they insisted on their childish game.

"At least now you can't steal anything," the Daroga teased and Christine expected him to stick out his tongue to Erik.

Erik held up his right hand and showed the Daroga is watch. "Can't I though?" His eyes were sparkling with delight.

Christine smiled and left them alone. She knew Erik could be dead any moment now and she wished him to be happy in the days to come - there was nothing else she could do for him now. Ten years. It had taken her ten years to really care for her husband, but she was glad she had realized this before it was too late. She had the chance to show him that she indeed loved him now and she would make the best of this, she would see to it that he was happy for the rest of his life, short as it might be.

THE END

 _Thank you for reading! I always appreciate reviews!_


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